


Diplomats

by eleutheria_has_won



Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Diplomacy, Future AU, Gen, Interspecies Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleutheria_has_won/pseuds/eleutheria_has_won
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flickear was a young, fairly average sort of rat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maxride10000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxride10000/gifts).



> "Wondering diplomat and storyteller gregor"
> 
> Hmm…I assume you meant wandering? Whatever, I’m going with that XD

Flickear was a young, fairly average sort of rat, but his mother, being one of Lady Lapblood’s own lieutenants, was not, and she’d decided it would do him some good to bring him along to the annual Negotiation with the Regalian killers, which was how Flickear found himself crouched at his mother’s side, idly wondering if itching his ear with a hind-leg was considered undignified under the circumstances, while the Reglian diplomat strode back and forth and muttered angrily under his breath.

“Of course he would be late,” the man cheeped quietly under his breath in flawless Rat, running a hand angrily through his black hair. “He probably got sidetracked eating  _mushrooms_  with  _spinners_  or who  _knows_  what else.”

Flickear had no idea what the killer was talking about, though he was fairly impressed at the black-haired man’s grasp of Rat. (All the humans he’d met, a grand total of five, hadn’t known a word of it.) “Mom,” he whispered to the larger rat, raising a hind-leg to scratch idly and gulping when she gave him a baleful  _look_  for it, “Who’s late? Aren’t both sides here already?”

“The bard’s not here yet,” she said. 

Flickear gave her an incredulous look to put any skeptic to shame. “The  _who_?” he said. His mother gave him an amused glance.

“You haven’t heard any tales of the Marked Bard, who wanders the wild bringing stories and fellowship to all species?” she chuckled, “Well, then I have been remiss in your education.”

Flick wrinkled his nose and tucked back his ears- the ratty equivalent of rolling one’s eyes so hard one feared them coming loose - and sighed. “I know about the Marked Bard, Mom.  _That_  bard is who we're waiting for?”

“You know other bards?” she murmured playfully, prompting an impatient huff from her son.

“I’ve heard the stories, _Mom_ , I’m not stupid. Why would the Marked Bard show up for a diplomacy meeting?” Flickear grumbled. 

“Why, for fellowship! What else could it possibly be,” his mother snickered. Flickear glared at her sullenly and when she turned her back for a moment, he made a very rude gesture in her direction. (He was not, for all his bravado, quite brave enough to do it to her face.) A disturbance began to make its way from the far side of the crowd

“Ah, here we are!” she said quietly, grinning as she examined the disturbance. The black-haired killer perked up and put on a ferocious scowl, setting his fists on his hips. A couple seconds later, a killer with the darkest skin Flickear had ever seen, marked in a dozen places with pale scars, pushed his way out of the crowd and into the clear space at the center. His easy-going grin fell a little when he made eye-contact with the dark-haired one, who by smell was absolutely furious.

“Wherehaveyou _been_?” the dark-haired one hissed under his breath, quietly enough that Flickear was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard. The dark-skinned one - the bard, Flickear assumed - shrugged and gave the other killer a pleading smile. 

“Got sidetracked,” he murmured, glancing around, still speaking in Rat. The bard raised his voice and said, “Are we ready to get started?”

“We’ve been ready for almost an hour, Gregor,” a voice drawled, “We were only waiting on  _you._ ” She stepped forward, and revealed herself; it was Lady Lapblood, famous war hero, leader of the gnawer nation. 

And instead of apologizing, bowing, scraping, or any of the other things people usually did when faced with the Grey Queen, the bard Gregor just gave her a playfully simpering look, batted his eyelashes coquettishly, and said, “I’m flattered,” in a ridiculous voice. 

What the fuck.

Things only got more confusing from there. Negotiations started up between Lady Lapblood’s primary diplomat and the black-haired killer, but instead of backing away or watching calmly from afar, Lady Lapblood stood to the side, with the bard, and made quiet small-talk - all through the negotiations! Occasionally, when the diplomats came to loggerheads, the bard would make a sarcastic or snide comment, and instead of anyone reprimanding him (like Flickear would have been, if he had made any of those - admittedly pretty funny - jokes) the Lady herself just snickered!

The bard seemed to have no real role in negotiating or diplomatic matters of any form, just walking around and chatting with different people. It almost seemed like he was ignoring the negotiations entirely!

When the diplomats finally shook hands and the rat envoy was trotting off back home - with the bard in tow, walking up at the front with Lady Lapblood and chatting like old friends - Flickear had finally had enough. 

“What the  _heck?!_ ” Flickear burst out, fur standing almost on end in confusion. “He didn't do anything, why was he even there, why did we spend hours waiting for him!  _What?_ ” The last word trailed off into a whine of utter bewilderment.

His mother - horrible person as she was - was just laughing. Long and loud, too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping a tear of mirth away. “It's just so funny to how much you still have to learn."

Flickear, though he would never admit it, pouted.

His mother smiled and shook her head. "It’s an old tradition, from after the Bane’s War,” explained she. “No one’s allowed to negotiate without him there.”

Flickear gave her a ‘what even’ face. “That makes no sense, he didn’t  _do_  anything!”

“ _This_ time,” his mother said pointedly. “These days, he doesn’t have to do much. Right after the war - you’re too young to remember, you weren’t even born then, but the different species got along really, really poorly. Negotiations had a way of going sour within minutes of starting.”

“And…?” Flickear drawled skeptically.

His mother gave him a look, but it faded into a grim, tense state - the kind Flick only saw on anyone’s face when they were recounting stories from the horrors of the war. “During the very first negotiations, it was about to turn into war all over again,” she said seriously. “And it would have been a massacre for all, make not mistake.” Then she eased back a bit, smiled in faint relief. “But the bard - he was called the warrior, then - had friends on every side. The fight didn’t happen, because he stopped it. He stood there between the Regalian Queen and the Peacemaker, who were almost at blows, snapped his sword, threw it in their faces, and yelled at them until they stopped.”

Flickear’s mother paused to gauge his reaction. Flickear’s face was nothing less than disgruntled, but he seemed to accept the explanation so far, if only grudgingly.

She shrugged. “And then the next negotiations after the treaty, that almost ended in fighting, too, except he stepped in again. And the next. And the next. After that, the diplomats made it a rule - mostly,” his mother laughed wryly,“out of spite, I’d think. He was the only one who everyone could both trust to be both unbiased in fights, and able to stop fights if they did happen.”

“Wait, why?” Flickear said. “Why was he the only one who could stop fights?”

“That, you should ask him yourself,” said his mother mischievously. Flickear wrinkled his nose at her. 

“Why should I?” asked he.

“Well,” a low, amused voice said beside him, “I have it on good authority that I have a talent for story-telling, and a gift is a terrible thing to waste.”

(Flickear would later deny how he jumped almost a foot in the air and squeaked like a pup, but he thought maybe he could be forgiven. Warrior or not, no killer should be that damn sneaky.)

(In the Marked Bard’s defense, though, Gregor was a pretty good storyteller.) 


End file.
